Small Bits of Reality
by clair beaubien
Summary: Missing scene to Head of A Pin. No connection to my story "Standing Guard". Dean's in the hospital and doesn't want to have to save the world. Something reminds him that it's not the world he wants to save.


Small bits of reality jumped at Dean, harassing him to wake up. He knew where he was – hospital. He knew what had happened – Alistair and a substandard devil's trap. He knew he was off the machine and breathing all on his own. He knew he was the cause of the seals falling like dominoes and he knew he was supposed to be reason they sooner-rather-than-later stopped falling and he knew that responsibility was more than he could bear. That was one of the reasons he stayed asleep as much as he possibly could.

He knew that Sam sat by his bed every second of every day because Dean heard every person who came into the room tell him that he needed to get some rest, get something to eat, maybe take a shower.

But Sam never left.

Dean knew that Sam never left because he heard snips and splotches of Sam's monologues when any little movement from Dean had him jumping to the alert, coaxing and cajoling and not a little bit demanding.

"Dean? Hey Dean – c'mon man. Wake up. Don't let that SOB win. Don't let any of them win. Okay? You hear me? Wake up Dean. You have to stay awake."

Talk about a _small_ reality…

Honestly, he wondered why Sam was even bothering. Awake, asleep, unconscious, there wasn't much difference, was there? Not anymore. Dean felt as powerful and useful as used sponge, and apparently Sam was powerful enough to end the Apocalypse just by having the hiccups. What'd he need Dean for? To _induce_ the hiccups? Sam should just go and save the universe and then come back with ice cream. How hard could it be? Whatever it took, whatever Sam had to do, just let him go and do it without Dean.

But Sam never left. And he never slept. Dean knew he never slept because whenever – _whenever_ – Dean woke up, Sam was awake. Night, day, morning, afternoon, whenever – Sam was always at Dean's side and he was always awake.

A couple of times Dean heard someone invoking 'posted visiting hours' and really, Dean had a nurse or two who might've even scared Dad. But those couple of times he heard Sam invoking 'legal rights' and 'legal avenues' in that deep '_I wouldn't mess with me when I'm in this mood'_ voice. Nice to know that pre-law education didn't get wasted. It was even nice to know Sammy wouldn't leave him. Even if he should. He stayed in his chair, next to the bed, waiting for the moments Dean would wake up, arms and elbows on the mattress, his ginormous hand surprisingly gentle folded around Dean's.

When that happened, when Sam took his hand into his own, Dean was careful not to move his hand or his fingers because he didn't want Sam to start his demanding monologues all over again. It was too hard on Dean's ears, too hard on his nerves. Sam – Sam had moved on from Dean, moved on from how he used to be and he kept trying to drag Dean with him and Dean was tired of being dragged anywhere by anybody. Oblivion was so much easier.

So when he woke up now, feeling Sam's fingers folded into his own, Dean didn't move or stretch or breathe any deeper. He didn't even open his eyes. The traffic of noise out in the hallway told him it was daylight, the pain in his chest told him that his next pain shot was coming due, the damp heaviness on his arm told him –

Still without opening his eyes, Dean paid closer attention. Sam's hand was on his, but something heavier was on top, pressing down and Dean risked a quick peek over. Sam's arm was bent on the mattress, his hand was on Dean's hand, and his head was on his arm. Asleep.

The mighty oak had finally fallen.

Dean let himself smile a little at the sight of _Mr. 'I'm stronger than you, you're holding me back, quitcher bitchin', wait here while I torture Alistair like you couldn't even imagine'_ dead asleep like he'd just suddenly collapsed where he sat. At least now Dean could be really awake for a little while without worrying about agitating Sam. Or Sam agitating him.

Being sound asleep, it was hard to imagine Sam as the mighty terror he could be when he chose. He might have demons and angels and even scary nurses quaking in their boots, but to Dean he'd always be -

Why was he was in the room with Dean anyway? Not that Dean didn't appreciate it, really. But – why was Sam still with him at all? Sam maybe was part of the Apocalypse, but Dean was the _cause_ of it. Dean was the broken one, physically and emotionally broken; Sam was the strong one. Why didn't he just go out and save the world. Why did he even bother trying to keep Dean in the loop? Why the pretense?

Not that Dean minded the pretense. He hated the lying and the secrets and the misunderstandings, but if Sam still cared enough to pretend he still needed or wanted Dean, then – that was something right? He cared enough to care.

That was something, right?

All their lives, except for one or two really notable exceptions, Sammy had been the one wanting, needing, comfort and reassurance and his big brother. At least Dean always thought so. Always needed it to be so. But these last six months had been an almost constant painful lesson in how much it wasn't so anymore. Sam was grown up, he was in charge of himself and his life and his destiny. Dean had come back from hell to find himself basically out of a job. Sam just didn't seem to need to be a little brother anymore.

So now that Dean was feeling screwed six ways to Singapore, why not let Sam 'bulk up' and off Lilith? It wasn't like Dean was stopping him anyway, more just delaying him. _Holding him back._ Why not just step aside and -

_And what?_ Dean demanded of himself, watching Sam sleep. _Step aside and __**what**_? Let Sam go darkside, destroy himself, lose ever last part of himself he'd been trying to keep together his whole life? Dean couldn't do that. He _wouldn't_ do that. He _wouldn't_ stand aside. Sam could fight and holler and lie and sneak around all he wanted to. Dean had survived hell for Sam's sake after all; he could survive _Sam_ for Sam's sake. And as long as Dean had one drop of blood or one breath of air left in his body, Sam was _not_ going to destroy himself in destroying Lilith. That just wasn't an option.

Dean let his free hand rest on Sam's head. To his surprise, Sam didn't burst awake at the touch, sit back and start spouting his long list of demands for Dean's wakefulness. His left hand came up from where it'd been hanging down at his side, reaching blindly for what Dean didn't know, and came to rest on Dean's arm near his own head. He curled his fingers around, holding on. Holding on to his brother.

"Dean?" A very sleepy voice asked.

"Go back to sleep Sammy. I'm awake, you go back to sleep."

"Uh hunh…" He tightened his hold on Dean and was gone again.

Awake, Sam was a tower of – well, of whatever he _wanted_ to be. Asleep the walls came down and he was what he was. That was a reality Dean could live with.

The End.


End file.
